


The Road to Recovery

by C_A



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Fix-It, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Medical Procedures, Post-Finale, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_A/pseuds/C_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>That rating is probably gonna go up.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That rating is probably gonna go up.

“Is he going to be okay?”

At the blank silence, the yellow bot fumbled nervously.

“I mean, obviously he's not okay, but I meant – you can _fix_ him, right?”

Ratchet, seated in the corner of the room, leaned over his patient with a creak. “It's complicated.”

“It's always complicated! What's the deal?”

Ratchet's assistant, a younger bot named First Aid, scrolled through the datapad in his hands. “The thing is, Bumblebee, sir - ”

“Wow, don't ever call me that. It sounds weird coming from you.”

“ - is that Blurr is, well. He's alive, but he's not in his proper shape. I mean obviously! But since he's all, hmm, cubed up we can't reach any of his neural networks except the few still accessible from outside. His frame may or may not be salvageable, it's hard to tell exactly how much damage he took, and we need to pull it,” here, he tucked the datapad under his arm, making a yanking motion with both hands, “all out to see it properly to assess the damage.”

“So?”

“So, his neural connectors are all online, and we can't get to them all to turn them off, which means he'll feel every crushed and compressed plating and internal circuity being stretched back out again. Which would _probably_ be as traumatizing as being crushed in the first place.”

“Actually, given that it would take much more time, it would probably be worse.” Ratchet tilted Blurr to the side, tapping at a corner. He looked perplexed. Ratchet looking _perplexed_ , or confused, or befuddled in any way was a sign that they would all have to go on an adventure that usually included being shot at.

Although that had only held true while they were on Earth, rather than Cybertron. Maybe now it was a sign that he'd have to have First Aid run some tests.

“Well, there's not like a tool or something that can make him not feel stuff? Like a stun gun, but it works on sense of touch or whatever?”

“Not for extended periods of time, no.”

First Aid perked up. “The science team could - ”

“I don't want those lunatics anywhere near my patients.”

“But they're required to help by the Iacon Medical Board! And,” he added, probably thinking he was being subtle, “they have to follow the orders of the Chief Medical Officer when it comes to patient health.”

Ratchet grimaced, and Bee winced in sympathy. Perceptor would have to get involved, and while he no doubt would be able to produce something of value, the old medical bot hated interacting with him in any capacity.

Bee watched Ratchet struggle with his personal distaste before coming to the only decision he could. “I'll give him a call.”  
  


Perhaps the biggest issue, at least for Bumblebee, was the fact that Ratchet shooed him out and he was left to stand in awkward silence with Cliffjumper.

Bee knew Cliffjumper had been the one to pull Blurr out of the incinerator. He also knew he'd been the one to throw him in, but as he'd done so on Longarm's orders and without proper knowledge of what he was doing, he didn't really hold it against him. No one held it against Cliffjumper to the degree that he himself did, but “things like that happened in war”, whatever Sentinel meant by that. Bee suspected (as did Bulkhead) that Sentinel said things like that in order to minimize the involvement of his own lack of competency.

Bulkhead's words, not his.

“Uh, hi,” he said, before immediately turning to leave.

“Wait!”

“And here it is,” he mumbled. “Yes, Cliffjumper, sir?”

“Is he, uh, okay? I mean, did Ratchet say he would be alright?”

“Why don't you go ask yourself?”

“Well, as I'm sure you know, Ratchet's probably really busy… running tests and seeing to patients… wouldn't wanna get in the way.”

It was a lame excuse, and they both knew it, but watching Cliffjumper clench his hands while staring resolutely at the floor was a definite time waster for Bumblebee. “Yeah, he said he'll be fine, they're gonna fix his frame up after the science team does whatever.”

Cliffjumper scowled, clearly wanting more information, but not willing to ask for it. An idea flitted through Bumblebee's head, and he stifled a grin. “But, you know how it is, right? You get back from fighting off the top branch of the Decepticons, everyone wants your autograph - ”

“I don't see how - ”

“ - and you've got all this work to do 'cause you moved up a bunch of pay grades, so you can't really pay much personal attention to everyone. Like your patients. First Aid's running around _all the time_ , and we all know Blurr can't really do anything, being all boxed up.” Cliffjumper's mouth snapped shut, and Bumblebee turned on his heel, arms crossed. He loved getting his way, and a tiny part of him enjoyed twisting the knife a little too much, but it was all for a good cause. “So, he's just stuck just sitting there all day, no one to talk to, no one to keep him updated on what's going down in, like, politics or current events.” Behind him, Cliffjumper shifted from pede to pede, and Bumblebee aimed his grin down the hallway. “If that were me, I'd sure want a bot to keep me company. But I'm really busy, in fact I told Optimus I'd come help him with something today, so I can't do it. Actually I gotta go right now. Later!”

He took off at a light jog, not so quickly that it would push the red bot into trying to keep him from leaving, and turned at the next right. He'd promised Sari he'd show her around anyway.

 

Bumblebee loved Sari's sense of humor – it was so close to his own, how could he not? - but sometimes he really wished he knew where she got her ideas.

Nearly every single song on his Sumdac music player had been replaced with “Flight of the Bumblebee”. Every so often a different song would pop up, end again, and then he'd be relegated to sending the command for “next” in the hopes that he could find something new. His shift wasn't over for several more hours and he couldn't get back to his suite and fix it until then.

It was nearly night time and he was still stuck pacing the corridors that lead to the armory, occasionally skirting by Warpath. He dearly wished he'd been placed on guard duty with Jazz, or one of the Jettwins, but Sentinel had made a comment about compensating sizes and technically he had to follow the orders of the Magnus.

At least the weapons he was actually guarding were worth looking over, even he wasn't allowed near them himself. These were experimental weapons developed by the science team, capable of blowing up entire city blocks with a single fire.

Supposedly. He probably shouldn't listen to rumors so much but when that was all he had, Bumblebee couldn't really argue against it. Besides, it worked as “intel gathering”. He was gathering intel on what other bots thought, and that information was just as important as what was actually in there.

Probably.

_Next._ Flight of the Bumblebee. _Next_. Flight of the Bumblebee. _Next_. Paper Planes.

He'd probably feel bad about listening to music on guard duty if he didn't know that Warpath comm'd Flareup nonstop on his walks.

He looped around again, passing the wide, reinforced window that was facing the ancillary training grounds, and stopped.

Opened a comm channel. _Jazz, are either of the twins near the training area_?

Silence. He tapped his foot against the floor, optics glued to the form that was flying across the training grounds.

_Jetfire's with me and Jetstorm is off duty in the cafeteria. You see something odd?_

_There's a flying bot over the training - wait._ He switched channels. _Boss bot, is that you?_

The figured jerked up, and slowed to a hover. _Bumblebee?_

_Optimus! Oh, you scared the scrap outta me._ He cut channels on a startled response. _False alarm, Jazz. It's just Optimus_.

_No worries, Bee. Good of you to catch it anyway._

Today would be an excellent day if he scored a compliment from a senior officer and got Cliffjumper to get over himself and visit Blurr more often. _Optimus, what are you doing out there? Relaxing flight after dealing with Sentinel all day?_

_Ha, yeah. I just._ Static buzz, usually indicative of silence. _I'm gonna head out to Trypticon._

_What? Why?_

_I'm just gonna check on the Decepticons._

Check on them? What would Optimus – or anyone, for that matter – need to check on the 'Cons for? None of them would give up information for anything.

_Are the cons... up to something?_

_No. I'm just making sure nothing._ Static again, for so long that if Bumblebee wasn't watching him through the window he'd be sure Optimus had gone out of range. _Nothing inappropriate is going on._

_Inappropriate?_

_Don't worry about it, Bee. I'll be back in a few hours._

The channel closed, a clear sign that the discussion was over, and Bumblebee heaved a sigh. He circled back along his path, nodded to a surly Warpath, and dragged himself to his suite. His shift was over.

 

Next morning, he found himself back in Ratchet's med bay. “So, how're you feeding him, anyway?” Bee picked Blurr up without much thought, rolling him onto what was most likely his back and giving him a pat. A sympathetic pat, to be sure, although the irritated sigh from Ratchet would indicate otherwise.

“For now, we've found an energon line in his side. He'll keep until we can get him back into shape.”

Bee laughed – he couldn't help himself, even if it wasn't that funny – and set Blurr down again, petting the edge, carefully avoiding the open space where his spark sat. There wasn't much reason to be so touchy, other than the fact that it had to be extremely uncomfortable to be in the shape of a cube and if Bee had been in his place he'd want someone to gave him a little more attention. Maybe have Sari carry him around and talk to him.

Speaking of that, he should probably talk to Blurr directly. “Don't worry about it, Zippy, Ratchet will get you fixed up. Er, right?”

Thankfully, Ratchet waved his concern off with a grumble. “Yes, the science team has it under control. Perceptor wanted – well, what he wanted doesn't matter, 'cause he's listening to _me_ on this one. He said the Tactile Inhibitor Prod would be done by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Ha, the T.I.P.”

“Yes, Bumblebee, the T.I.P.”

“Like the P.O.K.E.! Oh man.”

Ignoring Ratchet's huff, Bumblebee grinned at Blurr. Not that the racer could see it, probably, but it was the thought that counted.

Bumblebee waved at Cliffjumper when he left, as the two were more or less playing tag-team at this point, and checked his inner chronometer. Being on Optimus Prime's team counted for something these days, which meant that Bumblebee was privy to private meetings having to do with the war. Upcoming strategic moves, who was in charge of what teams, any weird new weapons.

He wasn't quite late to the council meeting, but it was a near miss. He squeezed in next to Bulkhead, pleased when no one stopped to reprimand him. It was good, not being talked down to by any bot with slightly higher clearance anymore.

Except Sentinel, who was gazing self-importantly around the room.

Once again, Bumblebee marveled at how a mech so stupid could have been made Magnus.

“Now that we're all here, I think it's high time we get down to what _really_ matters - ”

Bulkhead cut in. “Increasing the structural support of outer Cybertronian space bridges before they collapse?”

“No.”

“Is it finally getting the extra energon pumps and replacement circuitry I've been asking for?”

“No!”

Optimus winced at Sentinel's response, and shot Ratchet a look of apology. “We're working on it, Ratchet. The delivery should be within a few solar cycles.”

“You know that took away from valuable resources for weapons - ”

“If you want your soldiers to stay in once piece, you'll deal with demands for medical supplies efficiently. Or you could just leave us without proper supplies and see how well the populace reacts.”

Glaring matches were common during meetings, and Bumblebee had only been a little surprised to learn that it was not a recent change. He only wished that he wasn't seated across from Perceptor, who was staring ahead in silence, right at him. He was probably running chemical calculations through his processor, but the slightly dull gaze was uncomfortable to be under.

“If we could please move on, Sentinel Magnus.”

“Right, right. Now...” he cast an expecting look around the room, smiling, “as we all know, Megatron and several officers are in Trypticon. However, General Strika is still at large with an unknown force of Decepticons, and we're received reports of a so far anonymous figure...”

On it went. Perceptor had finished a new biochemical weapon, but Optimus pointed out how disastrous field testing could be, the problems they'd face if it harmed their own soldiers. Sentinel, possibly thinking of the potential political fallout, said they'd hold off using it until Perceptor had created a treatment for the symptoms. Soldiers stationed on the outer planets were running low on supplies, and their cargo transports had been intercepted multiple times. There was a brief scuffle over whether or not they should send more troops from Iacon to guard them, eventually coming to the agreement that they would change routes around. Civilians were altogether happy, a fact that left Sentinel grinning proudly. Jazz was pushing for broader use of jetpacks, which was going to be an issue because they still didn't have them yet.

Bumblebee was bored out of his processor at this point, and found himself playing a glyph association game with Bulkhead, using extremely simple code they had learned at Autobot boot camp.

“Next, Mainframe, Wheeljack and I were discussing the possibility of information retrieval - ”

“Hacking,” Ratchet cut in. “Just call it was it is. And it's already been vetoed, Perceptor.”

“The reasoning behind your veto is only based on - ”

“What? Ethics? Yes, as a medic, those typically guide my actions in regards to the physical _and_ mental health of 'bots or 'cons.”

“This is irrelevant because you are not a mental health professional.”

“I'm a _medic_ and my job is to _keep others safe and healthy_.”

“Your job was granted to you by the Magnus and your first concern should be the lives of other Autobots.”

“Don't think you can rearrange my priorities, Perceptor. My first concern is the welfare of sentient beings, and the 'cons, no matter how much they might differ from us, are sentient and as such they have rights.”

Bizarrely, Perceptor turned and looked at Sentinel. His blank expression and calm posture didn't indicate as such, but he was clearly looking for help. Sentinel looked surprised to be pulled into the argument, and visibly fumbled for a klik.

“Ah... well, to be fair, it's not like the 'cons haven't made use of it in the past.”

“Shockwave did, yes, and it was still rare. Not to mention that any information would be several solar cycles out of date.”

“An issue that would not exist if you had agreed to it in the first place.”

“ _Slag it all_ , Perceptor, don't you have an ounce of decency left in your spark, or did you delete that too?”

Yikes. Bumblebee looked around the room, waiting for Jazz or Wheeljack to say something, before Optimus spoke.

“I think,” he said, tone cautious, “it would serve to remember that as Autobots, we should strive to be better than our enemies, rather than sink to their level out of desperation.”

“That's right. Decepticons hack people. _We_ don't.” Ratchet looked down, suddenly, and scowled. “We've run over our allotted time.”

“I'll have to ask for a bit more of your time, then.” Wheeljack paused, fingered through a cache of datapads, and said, “about the funds for our latest proposed project, can't you reconsider - ”

“Already dealt with, Wheeljack. Unless something's changed, I don't like to be petitioned for decisions I've already made.” Sentinel stood, hands braced on the table. Bumblebee noticed Optimus was very casually looking off to his left, away from the science 'bots, none of whom appeared very pleased. “All done for now? Right? You're dismissed.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So… what was that?”

They were sequestered away in Optimus's suite, Ratchet and Bulkhead and him. Sari was still in her suite, dozing away. Soon she'd wake and they'd have about a few cycles to explore the lower security sections before he'd have to go back to guard duty. He only had to wait until his day off to give her a proper introduction to Iacon.

“What?” Optimus asked, expression innocent.

“You were looking weird, after Sentinel shot down Wheeljack.”

“No, I wasn't,” he said, immediately hiding behind a gulp of midgrade.

“Are you really gonna try and hide stuff from us?”

Optimus winced. Ratchet, who'd been buried in his own cube of midgrade, set it down heavily and said, “alright, out with it. You're just gonna tell us what's been bothering you anyway, so you might as well do so now.”

Finally, he looked at them. They all waited patiently, anxious and curious and excited, and finally he said, “I'm worried about the Decepticon prisoners.”

 _“Why?”_ Bumblebee exclaimed, baffled. Ratchet let out a soft “ahh” in understanding.

“Well… it's just…”

“Sometimes,” the old medbot cut in, “'bots walk into the prison and… abuse the prisoners. It's not happened for a real long time, but we haven't had such high-ranking Decepticons in Trypticon. The guards can usually handle anything thrown at them, but they're small and… anyway. That's all you need to know.”

Bumblebee looked over at Bulkhead, who looked about a confused as he did. He wasn't completely sparkless, he _knew_ it would be bad news if 'bots could just walk in and beat up prisoners whenever they got bored. It was just odd that Optimus had taken it upon himself to keep it from happening.

Well, perhaps not that odd. “Okay, well, what does that have to do with Wheeljack?”

“The science team has been pushing for funding for certain, uh, let's call them “projects”. I don't agree with their decisions and neither does Ratchet - ”

“You told Ratchet but you didn't tell us?” Bulkhead asked, looking hurt.

“It's not personal, I just needed some information about chemical effects only he would know about – well, he's the only bot I'd feel comfortable asking about – and anyway, what it comes down to is this; the science team are getting into some gray areas and I've been trying to keep them from persuading Sentinel to agree with them.”

“Like the hacking?”

“Yes. Among other things.”

“The science team is gonna figure out what you're doing and then tell Sentinel you're manipulating him,” said Bulkhead, all in a rush. Bumblebee thought about the slightly nervous expression their leader had had during the meeting, and the careful way he had cut in when Ratchet and Perceptor had fought.

Optimus nodded. “They might, if that's what they think I'm doing. I prefer to think of it as making my thoughts known to the Magnus.”

Bumblebee snorted, finally snatching his own energon off the table. “Never knew you had such a platinum tongue, Boss bot.”

Optimus cracked a grin at them. “It comes in handy.”

 

“Is that the T.I.P.? It looks like a big blue stick to me.”

“Better be glad Perceptor didn't hear that or he'd never shut up.” A little light on the side lit up red, and Ratchet handed it off to First Aid. “Now shoo.”

“Aw, come on, I wanna see! It's not a big deal, right?”

First Aid perked up, quoting, “patients are entitled to their privacy during invasive treatments and procedure states - ”

“Invasive? I thought you guys were just poking him with it.”

First Aid shrugged. “Well, yes, at first, but afterwards - ”

“Come on!” Sari cried, clearly annoyed. “Bumblebee's been down here like everyday, at least let him see the poking before we gotta leave. Please?”

In the back of the medbay, Ratchet was grumbling quietly to himself, sorting through already organized drawers. He'd already have whatever they needed set out, and experience told the yellow bot that he was just fidgeting over having to use a new tool. Returning with a low-level numbing gel, which they already had six tubes of stacked next to the bed, he said, “let 'em look, this is barely different from an electro-shot. They'll leave after.”

“If you're sure…” First Aid checked the monitoring plugs were still in place before hoisting the prod up, aiming it at the area just above the open spark chamber. At the point of contact, there was the faint _pop_ as the electrical field control burst and shut down, and the red light turned blue.

“Is that it?” Sari asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“That's it, and that's all you get to see. Now leave.” Ratchet pushed Bumblebee's around by the shoulder, and Sari was towed along.

“Are you sure there's nothing we can do?”

“Are either of you medical personnel? No? Then get. I'll send a comm to Bumblebee when Blurr's ready for guests, so don't come sniffing around here before then.”

Sari sighed, and there was the _clunk_ of her head hitting the back of his neck when the door shut. Bumblebee tugged on both her arms still hanging over his shoulders and began a slow roll to the cafeteria. “Cheer up, he was never gonna let us hang around and we don't want to see Zippy getting all stretched out anyway.”

“Yeah, but what if Blurr wakes up and freaks out? You two were almost sorta friends, right?”

“Ehhh, I don't know about that. But Ratchet's the best there is and First Aid is pretty friendly so Blurr'll be fine. We'll probably see him in a few days.”

 

A few days turned out to be nearly two weeks. During that time, Bumblebee found himself having to call on Sari for help in evasive tactics.

“Okay, is he gone now? Where'd he go?”

“He went, umm, around the corner and now he's getting some energon. Aaaand now he spilled it. Go!”

Bumblebee vented in sharply, leaned forward, and shot down the hallway, leaving Warpath to glare at his back. It wasn't his fault that Cliffjumper had taken to shadowing him, asking over and over again how Blurr's recovery was going. The 'bot was incessant. It probably didn't help that he didn't have anything to say other than “Ratchet said he's fine” and “he's not ready for guests yet”.

“Enough is enough with the guilt complex,” Bumblebee muttered, taking a turn so sharply he nearly overbalanced and smacked into the wall.

“Red bot has left the premises, Bee! He's at the elevator now.”

“Wait, which elevator? Which floor?”

“The one near the cafeteria, where else?”

“Oh. Right.” Duh. He slid down a hallway, slowing to a near-halt, and darted up a flight of stairs.

“Bee, do you really think this is necessary? The poor dude just seems worried.”

“It wouldn't be if Ratchet would let Blurr have guests, but he doesn't, so it's one hundred percent necessary to my continued – wait, I'm here.” His suite stood before him; all he needed was a few extra rations.

His comm spat static; he hesitated at the door. “Sari, say that again. I didn't catch – ”

The alarm blared through his audials, sending a not very pleasant thrum of noise rolling through his spark; red light bathed the hallway. The high-encryption frequency used by Primes and the Magnus for sending base-wide messages, unattached to the main communications system, came alive.

COMMS ARE DOWN. DECEPTICONS HAVE BEEN SPOTTED OVER TRYPTICON. ALL AGENTS TO STATIONS.

Over and over, it looped, top priority glyphs clinging to it.

Bumblebee transformed and landed with a crash, wheels dragging him forward. Sari wouldn't have access to the frequency – they didn't even know yet if she could – and she wouldn't know what was happening beyond “emergency”. He dropped two levels and returned to rootmode. In contrast to the habsuite area, the lower areas were flooded; Autobots were flying out of and into rooms, shouting and cursing. He saw someone drop a blaster and jumped over them. The flow of bodies helped rather than hinder, and Bumblebee broke away from the crowd to run back to the cafeteria.

If she was somewhere else –

“BUMBLEBEE!”

She was standing half behind a corner of a wall, waving, yellow plating and a facemask covering her familiar self. His servo locked around her outstretched arm, and with one pull she was perched on his back. Someone bumped into them and kept on going.

“Where are we going?”

“Guard area, next to Security. Hold on tight.”

His job, being newly appointed to the guard, was barely anything more than “get to assigned stations and wait for orders”. The perk – or drawback, depending on how one looked at it – resulted in him stuck inside guarding the security bots rather than rushing to fight the Cons outside. The guards were split into two rooms, each placed on the side of Security. Their work was to monitor the inside of the building, manually searching for breaches rather than let the automated systems do it. They were also to act as protection for the security bots, who were more concerned with threats outside the building, and were probably working with Communications to get the comms back up. The upper floor was less crowded, at least, and if the enemy somehow managed to get all the way to them (extremely unlikely) he could tuck Sari into a corner and keep the fight away from her. For now, he let her perch on his back and slid into his spot on the far right.

The older guards had made a few jokes about him being too distracted to get through training, but he'd always wanted to be a true Elite Guard, and was perfectly able to focus when needed. He knew his routine, the key commands and sequences for checking that audio and visual tampering hadn't occurred, by spark. Levels 3 to 6, windows and doors, hallways and side rooms, the cafeteria and the loading dock behind it. Check visual, check audio, make sure the cameras weren't immobile, make sure the motion sensors were still working. A single light, three panels in on the ceiling, went dark and bright again. If any cameras were looped it wouldn't show up. Parts of the automated system were placed randomly around the building and were entirely under their control. It all ran under it's own power source, and the system was separated from the main network that kept the building running. If the Cons wanted to mess with it, they'd have to tear the walls out and support structures and figure out which wires went where.

Bumblebee honestly thought it was the greatest thing Red Alert had ever come up with and one day he'd buy him a drink for it. Now, however, he sat quietly next to his coworkers and typed away in silence. Occasionally someone would mutter something or ask the mech or femme next to them to double-check something. The alarm had been turned off, but the red lights stayed on.

The cycles crept by, and the fear tapered off into a tense wait. He could hear Sari breathing, the only noise she made for a good twenty minutes. Windows let them see into the Security room, and he felt her head turn to see them, the side of her face coming to rest on the back of his neck.

The lights returned to normal, and high command's message appeared on his HUD. TRYPTICON SECURE. MAIN BASE SECURE. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR STATIONS.

A whoop of joy went up from the bots around him, as well as a muffled version from the Security bots. "We good?" Sari asked, arms still locked around his neck.

He patted at her hand. "Are you kidding? We're awesome." He hopped out of his chair, careful to keep a secure hold on Sari as he did so. Behind him came the steady steps of an approaching bot, and he turned to see Jazz striding towards them.

“Agent Bumblebee.” The tone was so serious that he had a problem with placing it as Jazz, and snapped a salute. Sari slid off his back almost sheepishly.

“Sir. Yes.”

“Why is a non-combatant here with you?”

Oh. Ohhhh. “Sentinel's orders! He said I was supposed to keep an optic on her during, uh, emergencies.” Those hadn't been his exact words, of course. It had been more along the lines of keeping her away from proper Cybertronians who had actual work to take care of and how she'd be off the planet faster than a turborabbit if she got in the way. Close enough.

Immediately, the senior officer's posture loosened up. Relief tickled his field. “Oh, good. Had me worried there, for a sec.”

"Ha, you had _me_ worried." Although... maybe there was a reason to worry. He was almost certain Jazz wasn't stationed anywhere near here. "Um. Is there something you need, Sir?"

"Oh, right. You - and you," he pointed at Sari with a small smile, "need to come with me. There's some footage I need your take on the outer security feeds picked up." He turned on the toe of his pede, casual and calm.

He waited until they were out into the hallway before asking. "Not that I'm not glad to help, but why do you need my opinion on anything?"

"We're gonna get Optimus and the rest of your old team to take a look at it, but since you're here now, I wanted you to take just a quick look at it. Just in case... well, we'll see."

Sari tugged on his hand. "Think it's some sort of special privilege deal? 'Cause you helped take down the Decepticons on Earth?"

"I doubt it." The only special privileges they got were the ones Sentinel could use to show off. "Come on, maybe it's something cool."

"Or something totally creepy and weird," Sari insisted, but she looked cheered at the idea.

She looked much less happy when they walked into the room and immediately had every pair of optics on them. "Uh..."

"Izzat him, Jazz?" An old bot - green and brown and red, with the slightly clunky build of a frame that had seen too many patch jobs in its life - eyed them both with some distaste. "And... that one?"

_Jerk._

Jazz waved them over. "Don't mind her, she's fine."

"If you say so." He spun back around and studiously ignored both of them when they came to a stop on his right. "This is what we picked up about three cycles after the comms went down. It's right outside the training grounds."

The video that appeared was in the typical high-quality of most security footage, but the dull gray of the evening and the distance from which it was shot worked against it. They watched as a lone figure drifted across the screen - a flyer, no jetpack here and too big to be either of the twins - which was quickly followed by a second, thinner figure. Four more bots, one of them darting around the others almost nervously, trailed after them. They roughly had the same shape and size of the leading flyer. Rough yellows and oranges, smooth teals and purples, heavy maroons and an off-white favored by...

"Oh no."

"That's what I thought. It's the clones, isn't it?"

"Are you - that's Starscream!" He jabbed his finger at the front flier. "How is he alive? How is he _here_ , on Cybertron?"

"Slipstream," Sari decided, pointing at the slimmer figure. "She was the smarter of the clones. Maybe she found a way to bring him back?"

"Or he wasn't actually offline to begin with," Jazz added, and popped the chip containing the recording free. "Let's see what the Earth crew has to say."

"Do you think he's here for Megatron?" Sari whispered, floating alongside him as they made their way to wherever Primes and their space bridge crew turned Elite guards hung around.

"Doubt it. They scrapped each other every other day, what'd he want with old buckethead now?"

"Shhhh," Jazz ordered, and they both realized that of course this sort of information was classified and probably had to be talked about behind ten locked doors.

The resulting conversation was about as exciting as he expected; no one was pleased with the sudden return of Starscream and his clones, especially not so close by. Optimus and Jazz left together, discussing how best to break the news to Sentinel. Given how long the day had been, Sari elected to go with Bulkhead (to "see how his day went!") and Bumblebee found himself promising to put aside some free time so he could hang out with the green mech again. 

He was halfway out the door when Ratchet grabbed hold of his shoulder and hauled him back in. "Not so fast, Bee. I got news for you."

"What news? Now? The day's almost over!"

The medic scoffed and crossed his arms. "Fine, I see how it is. Spend all week bustin' my ball-bearings over Blurr and now that he's already for guests - "

He was back across the room and plastered to Ratchet's side before he knew it. "What? When? Blurr's awake? Is he okay? Did he say anything?"

"Calm down, calm down!" He peeled the overeager bot from his side and set him back down. "Primus, it's like you're his fraggin' bonded already."

His outraged response was waved away, because clearly Ratchet did not care for professional courtesy in the least. "Ten minutes, medbay. He should be aware enough for a quick chat by then, but don't get your hopes too high - he's still in rough shape."

 

Bumblebee knew Ratchet didn't exaggerate, especially not about his patients, but 'rough shape' didn't quite do Blurr's condition justice.

Blurr was a long stretch of bent and crimped lines, cracks and open rents in armor, stress marks forming on sections of protoform that had been crushed and compressed at unnatural angles. The energon line in his arm, the monitor cables, the temporary support struts strapped to his limbs all made for a terribly pitiful picture. Bumblebee felt like his spark chamber was cracked and leaking, and he knotted his fingers together.

Behind him, Ratchet twitched at the ripple of an EM field and side-eyed him in surprise. He surreptitiously brought out his scanner and passed it over the yellow bot, optics growing wide in disbelief. _Now that's an odd find..._

Caretaker coding, in Bumblebee of all mechs! He'd have expected to find it in Bulkhead or Optimus before him.

Blurr tilted his head to the side, which was rather difficult as it was braced to stay perfectly in line with his neck. "Agent Bumblebee?"

"Yyyyep. That's me. Hi, I guess. How are you?"

His hand twitched and wavered as he tried and failed to lift it. "Could be worse. Could be dead."

Bumblebee hummed, unnerved by the exhausted stare his fellow agent was aiming at him. "Do you know what happened?"

"Shockwave... crushed me."

"Right, right. We got him and Megatron and Lugnut all in prison, by the way. Um. He handed you off to Cliffjumper - "

"I remember. I could hear it before I went out. Cliffjumper was carrying me..."

The dull tone had him trading looks with Ratchet, who had so far busied himself with cleaning up the area. "Right. Um, he was told to, uh, get rid of you, but I guess he realized something was up because he fished you back out."

"Back out? Of... what?"

 _Gee you sure sound tired, maybe we should have this conversation a whole other time._ He really wanted to say it, but the twitches and twists in Blurr's EM field kept him grounded. "Well. The garbage chute. To the incinerator. But he got you back out! And then he took you to medical and they realized you were you. So."

"Ah." 

"He was really worried. Cliffjumper, I mean. He's been visiting you all the time..."

"Both of you," he sucked in a shaky breath, gaze sliding in and out of focus, "have."

"Yes. Both of us. But maybe you should rest now? I'll tell Cliffjumper and we'll come by when you're feeling better. Is that okay?" He winced. Bumblebee wasn't good with sick or ill people, preferring to joke to lighten the mood, but even he recognized the direness of Blurr's situation well enough not to. 

"Yes. Rest would be nice."

He shuffled out of the way for Ratchet to take over, and the old medic did so with his familiar no-nonsense, gruff manner. Bumblebee slid out of the room, listening to the trail of words with a heavy spark.

"This is the button for a dose of pain medication. Use it when you start feeling _any_ pain whatsoever, and this one is to put you to sleep. For now the most you can do is rest while we dose you with healing nanites and let your spark settle back to base frequency. It looks good for now but I want..."

He missed the last part as he finally gave in and ran down the hall.


End file.
